


Don't Waste Your Eyes on Jealous Guys

by EvAEleanor



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Auror Harry Potter, Bittersweet Ending, Choose Your Own Ending, First Kiss, First Time, Healer Draco Malfoy, Hopeful Ending, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, MACUSA | Magical Congress of the United States of America, Music, Pining, Roadtrips, TasteofSmut 2020, Touch, hearing, jealous boyfriend, mentions of Abusive Relationship (emotionally and verbally), on the bonnet of a car
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:34:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25292509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvAEleanor/pseuds/EvAEleanor
Summary: For two years now, Harry’s life has been different. Not only does he work in New York City as the Auror liaison to MACUSA on an international murder case, but he’s seen more of Draco Malfoy than he’d ever thought possible. Working with him, and spending time with him after work. During all of this time, Harry has watched Draco going back to his shitty boyfriend over and over again. The worst thing about all of this, he’d fallen in love with him. Maybe there’s hope for Harry though. Maybe for just one night...
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 67
Collections: Taste of Smut Fest





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic would be nowhere nearly as readable and coherent without my amazing alphas and beta.  
> [VeelaWings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeelaWings/pseuds/VeelaWings) has spent hours reseaching music with me. Thank you for all the hand-holding, research help and for being a brilliant friend and co-mod.  
> Secondly, I'm thanking [bottseveryflavorbeans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottseveryflavorbeans/pseuds/bottseveryflavorbeans) who helped me when things stopped making sense.  
> [janieohio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janieohio/pseuds/Janieohio), you are simply amazing. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your thorough beta work. 
> 
> This fic is inspired by the song [Let’s Fall in Love for the Night](https://open.spotify.com/track/6p97rhyuy0YEQn0OOQeM1H?si=NMCujHEzSbGPuhgobMgimw) by FINNEAS.
> 
> Shout out to all my co-mods. It was a pleasure to run this fest with you.
> 
> This fic has two endings. The first one (chapter two) is the happier, but open ending. If you want to hurt a little, choose chapter three. There you'll find the sadder and ambiguous ending, which is also closer to the vibes of the song.

Harry takes the first bite of the sandwich he bought on his way home from work. It's the first bit of food he's had since breakfast — if you can call two pop-tarts at 4 am breakfast — because the first days back, after almost two months he’d spent in England, have been very busy and exhausting. Although they had promised him Sunday off, he and his team had spent five hours in an old abandoned warehouse. They made twenty arrests and collected evidence to lock up the criminals deep inside the Appalachian Mountains for the rest of their lives. 

The whole case had taken them almost four years to solve. It’s why he’d been sent to New York in the first place. The leads in Europe had all gone cold, but more rich wizards and witches without any close family turned up dead on the other side of the pond. Originally, the plan was for Harry to hand over all the intel they already had and to abandon the case, but at the very last minute, it had been mutually decided that he should stay and support the Aurors here at MACUSA.

From his spot on the couch, Harry looks over to his desk, overflowing with forms and reports, and decides that he _could_ do his paperwork today, but opts against it. The potion he’d taken before leaving work is still working, and the Ministry and MACUSA can wait another day or two. Every single one of his superiors knows how much he hates filling out all these documents and sending them to an army of people. Cases involving two governments and perps from all across the globe are never simple. And his eyes would probably fall shut after one report.

He’d be going back soon, to the Ministry, to _home_ , and Harry isn’t sure if he really wants to. Although he misses Ron, Hermione, and, most of all, Teddy, life in New York is easier. People still know who he is, but they don’t make such a big fuss about it. No-one had ever followed him anywhere, and he barely saw any reporters on the hunt for the next big story. Here, he can go about his business and nobody bats an eye.

Those are thoughts for another day because, right now, he craves sleep. After finishing the last bits of his sandwich, he grabs a blanket and a small pillow and puts his glasses on the coffee table. Then, he lies down and switches on the telly. If he falls asleep now, he’ll wake up tomorrow morning around 3 am — 8 am UK time — and hate himself. _Why on earth are timezones even a thing?_ It’s his last thought before he closes his eyes. 

The buzzing of his Muggle mobile wakes him up. He flicks it open, answering the call without even checking the ID. He’s certain it’s Hermione because he’d forgotten to text her on his arrival. 

“Mhhh,” he muffles sleepily.

“Potter.” 

He’s heard his name spoken in that same tone by the same person so many times that his body instantly reacts. “Malfoy,” he sighs. “What do you want? It’s what… 5 in the afternoon? Can’t you bother somebody else?” Harry knows exactly why he’s calling him. Draco must’ve just finished work. 

“You didn’t come back after your assignment. You know the protocol.”

“Can’t you just fill out the form, and I’ll sign it tomorrow?” 

Silence. Harry resigned after hearing nothing from the other end for minutes.

“Fine,” he says with an eye-roll that is evident in his voice, “I can be at your place in fifteen minutes. Okay?” He pinches the bridge of his nose before rubbing his eyes. 

“No.” 

Harry frowns. There’s something in Draco’s voice that he doesn’t like, but he can’t put a finger on it.

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” 

_He’s definitely annoyed._ He isn’t sure whether it’s because of him, his work, or _somebody_ else. One thing is for sure, though; one-word answers from Draco mean that he wants to talk. It’s something Harry had learned after working closely with the other man for almost two years. They’d become really good friends during that time.

“Okay. How about this? I’ll pick you up in about an hour because I need to hit the shower first, and then we drive around a bit. You can run all the diagnostic spells you want and ask me all those stupid questions. You have to bring snacks and drinks, though, because my fridge is gaping empty.” 

“Fine,” Draco replies and ends the call.

* * *

As soon as he sits in his old 1990 Chevrolet Caprice, he knows that taking a shower was a waste of time. The sun is blazing hot, and he’s drenched within minutes, his thighs clinging to the cracked leather seat. The idea of casting a Cooling Charm pops into his mind too late, but he does it anyway because Draco would mock him for forgetting that he’s a wizard and _able_ to use magic.

He drives from his little Ministry-issued apartment in Chinatown over the Brooklyn Bridge to Malfoy’s home in Brooklyn Heights. 

To Harry’s surprise, Draco is already sitting outside on the stone steps of his brownstone when he pulls up in front, uncharacteristically dressed in a muscle shirt and shorts, similar to what Harry himself is wearing. His eyes are hidden by his favourite pair of sunglasses and a plastic bag with snacks and drinks is lying next to him.

_And why the hell do I know this?_

It’s in moments like these that Harry wonders where he took the wrong turn in his life. He often can’t remember all the details from briefings minutes after they’re over, but he can tell you almost everything about Draco Malfoy. Like his favourite spot in the MACUSA cafeteria (because they sometimes eat together), or how he takes his coffee (he needs to know how to bribe his favourite Healer, duh).

He catches himself staring at Malfoy. His eyes wander over the exposed, pale skin and his slightly rumpled hair, and he tries not to think about how much he’d like to run his fingers through them, or how his skin would feel under his fingertips. _Probably soft_. Or how he reacts when Draco touches or smiles at him. Often, it's enough to throw him off track, causing him to run into the next wall or person. Not that this has ever happened, of course. 

After shaking his head to get rid of any mental images, Harry realises Draco hasn’t come down yet, minutes after Harry has parked the car. He honks once, making Draco practically jump on the spot before the Healer walks down the steps and to his car, the bag remaining forgotten on the steps. Opening the car door, Harry hears Draco’s annoyed groan before a loud metallic crunch resonates through the car and Draco stays still for a moment. 

_Yeah… he’s stepped on one of the empty cans._

It’s followed by the sound of a paper bag crumpling under his foot as Draco finally sits down.

“Circe, your car is a blasted rubbish dump.”

“You, the generous Draco Malfoy, contributed heavily to this. You never clean up after yourself.”

“Firstly—” He raises one finger. “—Your car, not mine—” And another. “—Secondly, you invited me.” 

Harry tries to interrupt him, knowing what will come next. Every time they make a little trip in his car, Draco behaves like Harry is his chauffeur, which Harry technically doesn’t mind, but does he have to be so _Malfoy_ about everything? 

“Shush, Potter. I’m not done,” he interjects, still holding up his fingers before adding a third. “And last but not least, I always provide sustenance. Hence, it’s your job to clean your bloody car from time to time. I’m actually astonished it hasn’t developed a smell, yet.” 

Before Draco gets more into it, Harry points out something that will take his mind off all of Harry’s shortcomings. “Currently, whatever food or drinks you brought are being nicely toasted.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Draco hisses, quickly scanning the area for any Muggles while rolling the window down and Accioing the bag from its present position and placing it between his legs on the floor.

 _He must not be home; otherwise, Draco wouldn't do that._

“Monsieur Malfoy, where can I drive you today, sir?” Harry mocks when starting the engine. 

“Shut up, you tosser. Just get a move on.”

Harry pulls away into the New York traffic again, glancing sideways to Draco who’s still wearing his sunglasses and is now rubbing his forehead like he’s having a really bad headache. Since Draco would be more vocal about whatever shit Harry has pulled this time and throw some snarky remarks his way, Harry is fairly certain he isn’t the reason behind Draco’s bad mood. This leaves work or _him_. Harry suppresses all feelings he has towards _him_ and mentally goes through the list of places they could visit.

An idea hits him when they’re driving over the Brooklyn Bridge to Manhattan. They haven’t been up there in ages, but it feels like the right place to go right now. They need to put some distance between themselves and the city, which usually helps them both to recharge. It also makes it easier to talk because their rules are to switch their phones off — not giving their friends a chance to disrupt their seldom time alone — and to make themselves untraceable, letting others do the work for once. 

The distinct rustle of parchment lets him look over to Draco, who's pulled the Post-Op Check-up Form as well as a Self-Inking quill from his pockets. After filling in all the necessary information and ticking some boxes, Draco begins by running diagnostic spells before asking some additional questions. Harry generally hates these charms. They are like tiny needles of magic poking into different parts of his body, and you don’t know where they’ll hit next. Sometimes, when the Healer in charge detects something, they dig deeper and deeper, and his whole body revolts against the intrusion. 

With Draco, it’s different. And it’s not just Harry that says so. If they could choose, almost all Aurors would like to have their post-mission check-ups with him. Draco takes his time and his magic is mild, more like prickles that wash over you. 

Simply special.

Harry can feel it now, his magic flowing through every inch of his body, from head to toe. It’s warm, gentle, igniting every nerve ending. He should be used to it after two years, but he’s not; far from it, actually. Draco’s magic flows through him like a summer breeze.

It occurs to him that it might not have been his best idea to let Draco examine him in the confined space of his car where they’re so unbelievably close to each other. In the ward, he's able to distract himself by talking to his teammates or by following the movements of other Healers and staff. 

There’s no escape here. From the corner of his eyes, he can see Draco’s tongue sticking out between his lips like it usually does when he’s highly concentrated. To make things worse, Harry isn’t wearing the usual Auror robes which could hide any possible reactions. 

He shouldn’t be having any thoughts of that kind about Draco. He's taken. Draco has been in a relationship with Cornell for a little over two years now. They’d just gotten together when Harry had arrived in New York. 

_Perfect timing..._

Another spell flows through his body, and he can see the Draco clenching his jaw.

“Pull over.”

“I will. Soon...” 

“Okay. I hope you can come up with any good reason as to why I should let you resume work on Monday and not just hex you right on the spot.” 

“It's nothing.” 

“ _Nothing_ ,” he repeats with an icy voice. “How are you even sitting like this? Who gave you the Potions?” 

_Potions. A new one would be nice; the last one I took before leaving the apartment is slowly wearing off._

"You don't by chance...?"

"You've got nerves, Potter. Honestly. Why didn't you get checked like the rest of your team? Like standard protocol demands, I should say. You know I could make sure you never work as an Auror again. It’s not the first time—”

“Draco...” Harry attempts to cut him off, sensing it’s not about him anymore, not really. Him not abiding the law has become a running gag between the two of them. And he’s done worse things than going home after a mission without medical treatment. 

“No, Potter, you listen. And you listen good. I’m done with this. I’m so done with you breaking the laws you’re supposed to hold up. Why exactly can’t you behave like all the other Aurors? Why can’t you be bothered to follow MACUSA protocols? I’ve covered your arse so many times, but this is the last straw. Pull over, or I Apparate out of here.”

In short order, the car is safely parked on the side of the road. Harry unbuckles his seatbelt and, with a wince, turns to Draco. 

He gestures to Draco’s sunglasses. “Can you please take them off.” 

“Later. First, I’m gonna make sure you’re not accidentally killing yourself.”

Harry feels the wood of Draco’s wand against his sides before he feels a razor-sharp pain and hears a crack. 

“Shit!” Harry yelps in pain. “You could’ve warned me.” 

“Drink that,” Draco insists and throws a vial in Harry’s direction, “and then turn around.”

Another spell hits him right between the shoulder blades, and Harry suppresses the urge to cry out in pain by biting the inside of his cheek. Three nasty stinging hexes hit him there, and Draco is now getting rid of all the traces. The muscles in his back relax before Draco’s magic incrementally subsides. Harry regrets its absence because it leaves a void behind. 

“I’m done,” Draco’s voice comes from behind.

Returning to his previous position, he rolls his shoulders and murmurs, “Thank you.” 

“I’m not gonna ask the follow-up questions, but I expect you to attach a report to this form, and you have to see me tomorrow. I won’t give you clearance otherwise.”

They drive in silence further north, passing a couple of smaller towns and villages. The air in the car is charged with magic and heat despite the cooling charms Harry had cast earlier. Harry drops one hand to his thigh and starts tapping. It’s a nervous habit he’d developed at the Dursleys to pass the time when he’d been locked in the dark cupboard or in his room over the summer holidays. He rarely does it nowadays, but the silence is almost unbearable. 

Draco groans audibly on the passenger seat, and Harry reacts by just switching on the radio, just then realising that there’s still a CD in the player. He usually listens to whatever is playing on the radio or drives in silence, unless Draco is with him. A quick glance to Draco shows he’s leaning back in his seat, seemingly finding the prospect of music relaxing... until the first notes of a song begin to play. 

Draco has been quiet before, but now it’s different. He’s withdrawn, lost in his own thoughts. He’s turned inward, entirely. 

In his head, Harry lists all the things he’s observed today. 

_The phone call, the weird behaviour when I arrived, Draco using magic in broad daylight in front of his house, the fact that he won’t take his sunglasses off, his outburst, and now he doesn’t switch to another song or change the CD._

Piece by piece the puzzle putting itself together. 

_Cornell. Without a doubt._

It’s against their road trip rules of not using magic when not strictly necessary, but he couldn’t give less of a fuck at the moment. He magically lowers the volume and reaches out, pulling Draco in to lean against him. 

“Wanna talk about it?” 

Feeling Draco shaking his head, he begins to stroke his arm gently. He hears Draco singing along:

_Run just as fast as I can  
To the middle of nowhere  
To the middle of my frustrated fears  
And I swear you're just like a pill  
'Stead of makin' me better  
You keep makin' me ill_

When the song fades away, Harry stops the CD and Draco moves back to his seat. He tries to switch the CD — with magic again. 

“ _Hey!_ That’s enough rule-breaking for one day.” Draco snatches the CD midair, putting it in manually and presses play. 

He places one hand across his face in incredulous disbelief when The Black Eyed Peas start playing. It hasn’t occurred to Draco to check what CD he’s putting in. 

“What the actual fuck, Potter?” Draco laughs and that’s all the encouragement Harry needs. 

“Ha ha HAAAAAAA,” he belts out and begins to move in the rhythm of the song. 

“And Pump it,” Draco mutters. 

“Louder!”

“Pump it,” he screams.

From that on, it’s a constant to and fro. They sing at the top of their voices and dance on their seats. P!nk might be Draco’s favourite artist (Harry had to listen to her for more hours than he’d care to admit), but Monkey Business always makes him smile and feel blithe. 

The songs play in random order and by the time they reach _My Hump_ , nothing even hints at the breakdown Draco had earlier. He’s taken his sunglasses off, but that’s not all. He dances, flirts with Harry — even winks at him — and shifts in his seat to display as much of his arse as possible. 

Harry’s eyes fall involuntarily to Draco’s backside multiple times while the song is playing. That lovely curve that he’s watched so many times when Draco left the room after treating him, but the royal blue Healer robes thankfully hide it very well, or Harry might have left the room in quite a different state on many occasions. And when they hit the clubs together, Harry copes by drinking and dancing with other people, pointedly ignoring Draco in his super skinny trousers. 

The urge to hit his head against the steering wheel becomes stronger the longer the song plays. He could really use a drink... or five right now. Draco has never flirted with him so blatantly obvious. What is he supposed to make of that? How should he react to that? Should he react at all? 

He chooses not to and reaches over to open the glove box and throw a small, wrapped object into Draco’s lap. He’s learned how important a diversionary manoeuvre can be. Usually, that’s the job of his teammates while he’d try to hamstring the bad guys, but that doesn’t mean he can’t do it here as well. 

The wrapping paper is ripped off the gift faster than Harry can say ‘Happy Birthday’. From the corner of his eyes, Draco sees Harry looking back and forth between the CD and him. On the day of his arrival, he made a little detour to purchase it, knowing from some other Aurors that Draco hadn’t had the chance to get it. 

“How did you...? I mean… Thanks, Potter,” he stutters.

“Happy birthday and I’m sorry that it’s three weeks late. And that I didn’t call. I was on a stakeout on your birthday and it felt awkward to call three days later, and I know how Cornell reacts when he sees my name on your phone. I'm glad you like it, though.”

“I love it. Can we… Would you mind?” 

“No, sure, go ahead. But we’ll be there very soon, just so you know.” 

_Stupid Girl_ starts playing, and Draco’s instantly hooked, bobbing his head, tapping his hand against his thigh, and when the song is over, he rewinds and it plays once again.

When the final notes fade away, he begins to speak, “There’s one song, I’ve already listened to, but I don't remember the title. Let me see…” 

Draco flips from song to song until he finds it. Harry is surprised to see Draco cheering triumphantly when P!nk starts to... well... moan the first notes. Draco cranks the volume up so much that Harry is unsure what will happen first: Will his speakers explode? Or will his eardrums burst? 

_Check it out goin' out on the late night  
Lookin' tight feeling nice, it's a cock fight_

They stop briefly to make the car invisible before driving up the hill and parking the car in their favourite spot on Sunrise Mountain — which, due to their late hour of arrival, is deserted. Harry casts various other spells to make them untraceable. He’d rather they could talk alone and undisturbed. 

The song plays for a second time and Harry joins in, letter-perfect because Pansy lent the album to Hermione who listened to it when he stayed at his best friends’ house. A lot. Heavily pregnant, she was restless during the day, constantly cleaning the entire house, and she couldn’t sleep on most nights. In between Classical Music and other artists that she likes, she listened to P!nk. 

In these moments, Harry had missed Draco. He’d wondered what he was doing. Would his absence be missed at all? He’d been worried sick because he didn’t know what Cornell would be up to this time. In what state Draco would be in upon his return when he wasn’t around to put the broken pieces back together?

He has his answer now. 

Anger rises in his blood the longer he thinks about it. Suddenly, he opens the driver’s door, grabs the bottle of Firewhisky from the plastic bag, before slamming it shut. With a flick of his wand, he cools down the bonnet and sits down on it, resting his feet on the bumper. The bottle is quickly opened, and he gulps down as much as he can before the burn becomes too much. 

How often had he urged Draco to leave him? How often had he watched him going back, only to get treated like shit again? How often had he sat on the bonnet of this exact car with a crying Draco?

Harry knows that besides Draco’s stubborn will to help people, another reason for him accepting other Healers’ shifts and working constant overtime is his wanting to stay away from home. He avoids his boyfriend as much as possible. 

On the outside, they are the perfect couple. Draco, one of the most promising Healers, and Cornell, the first secretary of the President. You have to look very close to notice the tiny details. Like the way his hand on Draco’s shoulder presses down with bruising force when other people talk to Draco during functions. Or how he doesn’t leave Draco alone for a single minute. He’s the personification of jealousy, especially when Harry is around. But Cornell would never say anything against him because Harry is a threat to his political career. His ambitions are more or less the only reason he began dating Draco in the first place. For him, Draco is the pick of the bunch. Attractive, pure-blood (it matters to him), intelligent. Draco knows how to impress and that’s all he’s needed for. Cornell is dating Draco because of what he represents — the exterior — and not because of his personality.

Nobody knows what happens behind closed doors. Nobody, but him. It isn’t like he’s hitting Draco or forcing himself onto him. The scars he leaves on Draco are mental. Invisible to the eye.

Hearing a car door falling shut behind him, Harry takes another swig from the bottle before handing it to Draco, who sits down next to him. 

“How was it?” Draco begins the conversation.

“What do you mean?” Harry hoped that they would talk about what happened here while he was gone, but he just rolls with it. He can't, and won't, force Draco to talk about it.

“Being home, seeing all of them. How many young Weasleys are there now?” 

“Six, but George’s wife is pregnant again. So, seven soon.”

“And Granger? How’s she settling into her new role?”

The mention of his best friend and his goddaughter makes him forget the bad things that might've happened. “Brilliant. We’re talking about Hermione after all. She’s nervous about everything, but who wouldn’t be? Taking care of another life, so tiny, so fragile. I remember how small Teddy was when I visited Andromeda in the months after the war was over. And she was even smaller when I held her for the first time. A complete human, but so different. Her small hands and those tiny fingers. Can you believe it? One day, she’ll hold a wand in them, and a broom. She might be catching a Snitch or race over the Quidditch pitch with a Quaffle in her arms.” Harry can feel his cheeks heating up. “I’m so sorry about rambling.”

“No, it’s cute. I guess she has you wrapped around her little finger? And you will buy her everything she can wish for like you do with Teddy?”

“Guilty as charged. I just… They shouldn’t be missing anything. You know how it was for me, and I know that Teddy and Rose have people that actually love and care about them, but I-I… I don’t know… It’s just…” Harry tries to find the right words, but it’s so complex that he doesn’t know where to start. 

“I’m the last person to judge you. You saw me burying Teddy in presents the first time he visited you here. How’s my little cousin anyway? I haven’t seen him since January.”

“He’s doing great. We played Quidditch at the Burrow and flew around a bit. I love flying with him. Teddy was a bit sad though that you couldn’t make it to his birthday.” 

There’s an awkward silence between them after Harry has finished speaking. He honestly didn’t mean to bring the subject back here so quickly, but what’s done is done. 

“It’s over. For real this time.”

He nips the feeling of hope rising in his chest in the bud. It can’t happen again. He can’t get his hopes up for something that’ll never happen. Harry knows why Draco has gone back over and over again. He sees himself as damaged goods, lucky he’s found anyone who’s willing to love him, no matter how twisted Cornell is. And Harry lets him. He’s watched him from the sidelines, afraid to speak up, scared what would happen to their friendship if he does. 

Turning himself to Draco, he wraps in his arms, holds him tight and tells him that everything will be okay like he’s done so many times before. Draco relaxes his weight onto him, and Harry tightens his grip further, one hand in his hair. 

“What happened?” he whispers softly. 

“The usual. He got jealous and yelled, but this time I had enough. I threw him out five weeks ago.”

 _Five weeks? That's longer than ever before._ But Harry doesn't dare to hope. Even if it's over between Draco and Cornell, there's nothing that says Draco would be even remotely interested in him. 

_I know better than to call you mine._

He still wants to know what happened. “Pansy again?” 

“Pansy,” Draco scoffs. “Yeah, right.” He opens the bottle, untangling himself from between Harry’s arm to down some more Firewhisky. “Speaking of her, did you see her when you visited the Weasleys?”

_Why is he changing the subject? What isn’t he telling me?_

“Once. She looked amazing, as always. But Ginny... there was something about her. I can’t really describe it. Magical maybe?”

“Crushing on your Hogwarts sweetheart again?” Draco teases. 

Harry’s denial comes way too quickly and defensive to be considered a normal response. 

“I’m just taking the mickey out of you, Potter. She has a bun in the oven.”

“A what?” Harry shrieks, totally shocked by Draco’s words. 

“She’s pregnant, you pillock.” 

“When? How? And how do you know that? Why has nobody told me? I was just over there.” Harry can’t believe it. He can’t believe that he’s missed this. He thinks back to that day and her behaviour. She hadn’t wanted to get on a broom that day to play Quidditch with her family, claiming she wasn’t feeling well. It makes total sense now. 

“I only know because I’m Pansy’s best friend. She couldn’t hide it from me. They haven’t even told any Weasleys yet because you know how Mrs Weasley can be. ” 

“Yeah, I understand that. Pansy still seems to be a bit uncomfortable with so many people hugging her when she arrives.” 

“We weren’t raised that way; it was considered undignified. I don’t think I could handle it better.”

“For sure. But I can’t even picture you at the Burrow, let alone date one of them.” 

“Me dating a Weasley? Merlin forbid. The only thing that might make that appealing is my parents’ reaction when I tell them.” 

When Draco is done speaking, there’s nothing but silence. Harry uses the time to enjoy the view, to look at the man next to him. The blond hair reflects the evening sun. Draco looks peaceful, relaxed, next to him. It’s good to see him like this, and if he could, if he were allowed, Harry would make sure that Draco looks like this every day. Happy. 

Draco wouldn’t want it though. A relationship with him, an Auror who earns his Galleons by putting himself in danger. Somebody who might come home with more scars and injuries after work. He needs a person he can depend on, and who also isn’t employed by another government. Draco would have to start anew in England, and Harry knows that it would be difficult for him because of his past. He can’t hide the Dark Mark, and back home everybody knows who he is and what he’s done. 

“Oh, OH,” Draco exclaims, shifting closer to Harry, hitting his upper arm with the back of his hand, “I just had the best idea ever. If I was dating a Weasley, I would, after some time, call Arthur Weasley ‘Dad’ in front of my father. Can you imagine Lucius’ face?"

Draco's statement comes so unexpected that Harry spits out half his mouthful of Firewhisky and chokes on the other half. He coughs hard until Draco rolls him to his side, lets him cough it all up. He pulls him into a sitting position and thrusts a bottle of Butterbeer into his hand, making him drink.

"Sorry, didn't expect you to almost die just because I'm talking about your Ex, so I didn’t bring any water. The only other option to Butterbeer would've been the Sober-Up Potions, but I think you don’t want to drink that just yet."

"It-it wasn't that," Harry tells him with a raspy voice, "more the idea of you calling Arthur 'dad'." He takes another desperately needed swig of Butterbeer. 

Draco snorts, and Harry grins back at him. They stare at each other for a bit, but when it becomes too much, Harry leans back against the windshield again and busies himself with taking swigs from the bottle of Butterbeer in his hand. He waits for Draco to say something, but the Healer stays silent next to him. 

With so much alcohol in his system, Harry’s guard is down, and he lets himself fantasise what it could be like. To get out of the city with Draco when they both have time and just bask in each other's presence. Talking about work, friends and family so far away. He'd love to make plans with him to visit their families together. As a couple. They could invite Teddy over more often, or even their friends. Pansy or Millicent haven't been here once since Draco left to finish school at Ilvermorny. They only saw him when he'd come home. Harry thinks it would be good, that they could make it work. He could show Draco that love isn't bound to a person’s expectations, but to accepting the other person as they are. It could be so wonderful. 

"Looking at the stars is weird for me." Draco begins a new conversation with these words. 

Turning his head to the right, Harry frowns at him. _Since when had Draco been lying there?_ He doesn't fully understand the jump Draco's mind has made to arrive at this topic. His face is mostly concealed by the darkening sky, and Harry hopes silently that the same is true for his own face. His cheeks are flushed because Draco's body is very close to his own. There might be a space of three inches between their shoulders, but no more than that. Harry quickly shoves his hands into the pockets of his trousers, pushing aside the urge to pull him in. 

For almost two years now, he's imagined what it would be like to kiss Draco, to rest his hand on the nape of his neck, moving him closer and closer until their lips would brush against each other. How would his tongue feel against his own? Would Draco nibble his lower lip? Or would he let his usually very cultivated guard down and moan into his mouth? Right now he'd taste of the Firewhisky they'd been sharing. Draco hadn't drunken much, but more than Harry who hadn't touched the bottle since he almost choked on the liquid. 

"I totally blame the Black family tradition for this. You know we're all named after stars and constellations, right?” Draco continues. 

“You do remember that Sirius was my godfather, right?” 

“Yes, I do,” he says, one side of his mouth tugging up. “And that’s exactly what I mean. For others, they’re just stars, but I instantly see faces, remember stories.” 

The mention of Sirius has put quite a damper on his own mood. He hasn’t thought about him in a long time, hasn’t talked about him in even longer. Harry knows it’s silly, but he does feel guilty. He’s sworn to not forget him — all of them — and he hasn’t, however, not thinking about them every single day feels wrong on so many levels. On the other hand, he’s glad for it. He remembers the guilt he felt when holding Teddy in his arms for the first time. Harry made him an orphan. Teddy’s parents died fighting for him, just like his own parents had done all these years ago, all of them hoping the prophecy was right. 

“I’m sorry. The previous generation of Blacks seems cursed, but some of my ancestors were quite funny. Did I ever tell you the story behind the peacocks at Malfoy Manor?” 

Harry frowns and huffs out a laugh. “No. You mean to tell me that they weren’t one of Lucius’ extravagant purchases?” 

“Oh, Merlin no. Father hated them, but they were a wedding gift from the Queen.”

“The Queen,” Harry repeats in disbelief, " _the_ Queen. As in the Queen of England?”

“How many Queens do you know exactly? And It’s a very long story… Where to start…?” 

Harry turns to his side, watching Draco talk animatedly about why every member of the Black family gets peacocks and other weird things from the Royal family as wedding gifts. He points out some other stars in the sky, telling fascinating and also very disturbing stories about his ancestors named after them. Masters telling the house-elves to wake the entire house by means of wind instruments in the middle of the night, a pranking Headmaster, and naked knights on Thestrals mark some of the highlights. 

They drink a bit more Butterbeer and Firewhisky but are mostly engrossed in conversation. Darkness is wrapped around them; the moon and the stars are the only sources of light. The mood gets generally lighter the darker their surroundings became. They can completely focus on each other now that everything else has faded into darkness.

Harry shares stories that only Ron and Hermione know, and Draco in return tells him about old pureblood traditions and weird things his patients got up to. He worked at the hospital before he got his current position. Some of these Harry is sure he's heard before, but every time there's a little detail that Draco hasn't shared previously. Whenever they've come up here, he gets to see new nuances of the man. 

“That really happened? Oh my God, I would’ve died of embarrassment. Why would they even do that?” Harry buries his face in his hands. He’s flushed from all the laughing; tears are running down his cheeks by now. 

“Yep,” Draco answers shortly. “And despite the common perception that the treatment is simple and straightforward, you _can’t_ just go around Accioing things.” 

Harry looks back at him, his eyes wide, running his left palm over his face. “That’s more than I ever needed to know.”

“You have to admit though that the person in question was very creative,” Draco remarks, trying to hold back his laughter. “And there are more stories like that. They were actually a frequent patient. Everybody knew them by name. Only after you've treated them, were you officially part of the team.” 

Harry shakes his head vividly, trying to not imagine other things they had gotten up to. Why in Godric’s name would people do things like this? There are definitely better things to do with one's spare time. 

"How about I tell you about some famous people I treated?” Draco asks. 

“If they did things like this, I pass.” Harry has reached his personal level for weird and embarrassing stories for the night, and he might actually know these people, maybe even admire them. His brain can’t handle more of wild tales of what witches and wizards get up to when bored, despite the alcohol he’s been drinking. 

“No, most of them were sports injuries. I treated a lot of Quidditch players; some even send me autographs later.” 

“WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME THIS JUST NOW? We’ve worked together for two years and you tell me now that you have autographs from Quidditch players?” 

“Whoa, Potter, calm your horses. If I’d known I get such a reaction, I never would have told you.” 

“Hey! That’s unfair.” Harry slaps Draco’s upper arm gently with his hand. “Besides, it already took you two years to tell me, so spit it out; I need to know. Who did you treat?” 

“Okay... so... there was Mark Luck, Sandrine Briand, Deirdre Doherty...”

“Deirdre Doherty?” Harry practically yells at Draco. “The chaser from the New Haven Hippogriffs who’s scored the most goals in the entire league and was awarded Quidditch player of the season in 2004?” Harry is baffled. She’s one of the best chasers he’s ever seen. Deirdre is so fucking talented; others could never achieve her level, even if they trained night and day — which she probably also does. But something else dawns on him. “Is that where you got the last minute tickets when Teddy came by unexpectedly last autumn? That game had been sold out for months.” 

The shy smile followed by Draco turning his head away for a moment are answer enough. He looks like a child who has been caught with one hand still in the cookie jar. 

“You’re unbelievable, Malfoy. You’re BFFs with a famous Quidditch player, and you didn’t even tell me.” Harry shakes his head in mock disapproval. “Any other ones I need to know about? Timothy Reid or Lexy Gibson?” 

“Ugh. Reid, but I’d rather forget that ever happened.”

Bringing his butterbeer to his lips again, Harry mumbles, “You didn’t mind him being almost naked in last year’s Quidditch calendar.”

“I heard that. Honestly, Potter, Reid is such a princess; wanted me to take him off the team for a tiny scratch on his calf. Luck had his hand crushed and he was back on his broom two days later, although I warned him and advised the trainer of the Toronto Thunderbirds against letting him play in the following match, but did they listen? ” 

_Of course, you heard that. You can practically hear me sighing when I’m doing paperwork in my cubicle two stories below your office._ Harry repositions himself, bringing up his right knee and folding the other one so that the sole of his shoe rests against his butt. He interlaces his hands on top of his right knee, lies his head on them, and glances sideways at Draco. 

Work won’t be the same without him. No more friendly banter, no one who calls him out, and nobody to talk to. Hermione and Ron are now parents — they have to take care of Rose — and his best friend already let him in on Ron’s plans to leave the Aurors as soon as Hermione is getting back to work. He’s had enough of catching bad guys and his family comes first. Should Harry ask to transfer here? He doesn’t even know if there’s a post for him or if they’d even want him here. And then there’s Teddy. He swore to Remus he’d take care of him, but if Harry takes a job here, there’s no chance of him doing that. At least to the same extent. 

“You’re leaving, right?”

It’s final. He has to leave New York as soon as the case is officially wrapped up, and if he’s honest, it’s unlikely he’ll be back. 

“I can see the wheels spinning in your head, trying to figure out what to say.”

There’s no need to prolong this, so Harry nods slightly, not even sure if Draco can see it. 

Draco’s voice is quiet when he phrases the next question. “When do you leave?”

“I don’t know,” Harry replies with a shrug. “Friday, I think; earlier if MACUSA wants me gone or the paperwork is completed and approved sooner.” 

“So, knowing you, it might take a month or longer.” Draco attempts to cheer him up. 

Harry changes his position once again, sitting cross-legged on the bonnet now. He looks down, starting to fidget with the hem of his shirt. For one night, one last night, he wants to live in a bubble, to pretend that he doesn’t have to leave soon. Hell, he’d rather go back and talk about all the things people can do to their bodies or shove into various openings — natural or magically created — than be confronted with the truth. 

This place here has always been their safe place, where they could talk about everything and nobody cared, nobody judged them. But now everything is catching up with him, pulling the rug from under his feet. The harsh, brutal reality of his inevitable departure is being thrown in his face by the person he’s been in love with for two years, the person that he would love to take with him but can’t.

“What is it?” Draco places a warm hand on his shoulder. 

There’s no verbal response; Harry only puts his hand over Draco’s, trapping it and forcing it to push down harder. He needs it; he needs Draco’s warm palm pressing into his skin to ground himself. He’d always been Draco’s bastion of calm, but now he needs Draco to be strong for him. 

“Harry.” Draco brings his other hand to Harry’s chin, tilting his head, compelling him to look into his face. 

“Can we just not... Not _here_. Not _tonight_.” Looking into Draco’s face brings everything back to the surface. He wants him so much it hurts. It would be so easy to close the distance between them, to take what he’s craved for two years now, but Draco was always out of reach. 

They gaze at one another for several moments, Harry searching for something that tells him it’s okay, but Draco just stares at him. His hands are still on Harry's skin, two constant points of warmness which fills Harry's entire body. 

Turning more towards Draco, he takes the leap, leans forward and kisses... the spot just above Draco's lip. Eyes wide in shock, he tries to escape the grip Draco still has on him before he feels warm, soft lips covering his own. Letting Draco take the lead, Harry is kissed until he lies flat against the metal, tangling one hand in the silky strands of blond hair, the other to the pale, smooth skin of the nape of his neck. 

When they break apart, a single thought pushes through the veil of haziness. 

_It's over. Draco said that earlier. It's over._

As much as Harry wants to take this on blind trust, he can't, because he's been burned too often. In a need to clarify things, he speaks, "This is just for tonight. Just us, here." He intended to formulate it as a question, but it comes out as a statement. 

_I know better than to call you mine._

"Let's—" Draco breaks off and smiles down at him until Harry pulls him down once more.

They kiss, opening this time to explore their mouths. Harry tastes the sharpness of the Firewhisky mixed with the sweetness of the butterbeer he's had. It’s electrifying, impetuous and literally breathtaking. They only break apart at some point when the lack of oxygen is about to become a serious issue, and they’re gasping for air. 

Draco’s lips kiss his jaw before moving to Harry’s throat. Harry wants to feel them again on his own, so he cups Draco’s face in his hands again to bring him back to his mouth. They share another long, hot kiss before Harry, using his strength, shifts their positions, bringing Draco under him and pushes him up, so that he’s lying with his back against the windscreen.

“Ouch,” winces Draco in pain.

Okay, Harry might have been a bit caught up in the moment, and maybe pushed Draco too enthusiastically with more force than strictly necessary to achieve his goal. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, casting a non-verbal Cushioning Spell as an apology. 

From that point on, there’s no more talking. Harry takes advantage of his position and nibbles and kisses all the naked skin available to him. He pushes up Draco’s shirt to explore more of his body, committing it all to memory. Every moan, every wriggle and every time Draco arches into his touch, his kisses and licks. The saltiness of Draco’s skin mixed with his soap on his own tongue is such a fucking turn-on. Harry loses himself entirely in the motion, the need to make Draco feel good, and to feel him. 

For two years, he’s hoped for something — anything — and now that he’s given the chance, he will make the most of it. His movements are teasingly slow; time is completely forgotten. Harry traces the lines of the Dark Mark and faint scars he can feel against his otherwise smooth skin; the marks once inflicted in a stupid, unnecessary fight almost ten years ago. 

If he’d known all that Draco has revealed about his past then, things would’ve been vastly different. Both of them have been incredibly stupid for so long, even now as adults. Harry shouldn’t have let him go back all these times, he should’ve stood his ground, made Draco see how bad Cornell is. Harry should’ve fought for Draco instead of being a bystander.

All of that, all these emotions, are transferred into his movements. He tries to make up for so many years of wasted time all at once — a task impossible to achieve, and he knows it, but that’s all he’s given. He submits to all those repressed feelings he’s buried over two years and lets himself show his love for this single night. 

When the last of the clothes are pushed aside, Harry captures Draco’s mouth again and inquires if this is truly what he wants. Draco’s body might have already told Harry more than he’d ever dreamed of knowing, but they don’t have to cross that final barrier; he won’t push him into anything he isn’t ready for. 

Only after Draco has agreed, Harry travels south again, putting his lips on the only part they haven’t been yet. He basks in the broken-off curses Draco screams into the quiet night around them, and the way Draco’s hand tugs on his hair, the other clutching some part of his car for leverage. There’s only the need to make him feel good, to show Draco how much he means to him. Only when Draco shouts at him that he wants it all, does Harry begin to slick his fingers up magically and slowly works him loose. 

They move again until they find a comfortable position for both of them. Harry cautiously sinks into the hotness of Draco’s body, his mouth finding Draco’s, kissing him before he starts to move. The air around them is filled with filthy curses, moans, screams and pleads. Harry is enveloped in Draco’s long pale legs, propped up on his forearms next to Draco’s head. It’s the most wonderful feeling. Better than he ever could’ve imagined. Reaching down to grab his hips, Harry changes his position before he brings them up higher for a better angle. 

The movements have lost their rhythm, become wild and hasty in their rush to completion. It’s Draco who spills first, seconds before Harry is there as well, coming inside of Draco.

* * *

They lie there for some time, on the bonnet of Harry’s car, wrapped in each others’ arms and the blanket Harry has Accioed after they’ve gotten rid of the mess they made. Draco rests his head on Harry’s shoulder. The sun hasn’t come up yet. Dawn is maybe an hour away, but the sky is beginning to gradually shift to lighter shades of blue, causing stars and moon to disappear from view. When Draco’s body becomes heavier, and Harry sees he’s almost asleep, Harry breaks the spell. They get dressed and get back into the car.

Dutifully, Harry drinks the Sober-Up Potion before starting the engine. It takes Draco twenty minutes, maybe even less when exhaustion strikes and Draco falls asleep on Harry’s lap, P!nk’s newest album playing softly in the background. Harry, in contrast to Draco, is high on... everything... His mind is running wild, his body is pumped with adrenaline, and there’s, so far, no end in sight. Having Draco here, asleep on his thigh, it seems closer to a dream than actual reality. 

Feeling the heavy head resting on his leg, hearing the quiet steady breath, and the sight of Draco’s peaceful sleeping face are better than any of the potions he had to drink to stay awake. He’d gladly give up sleep for getting to see Draco like this every minute of every day. 

It’s around 6 am when the sun is finally up and they’re back in New York. Harry should be sad, but, inexplicably, he isn’t. It feels more like the start of something new, something he’s deemed impossible, unobtainable. 

He lets his fingers run gently over Draco’s cheek, before smoothing over his rumpled hair. Draco stirs awake with the cutest, though very grumpy, grunts Harry has ever heard. The imprints of the fabric of his shorts run from the corner of his eye to his ear. The white-blond hair resembles more Harry’s everyday hairstyle, not even the slightest hint of meticulous style it usually has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs referenced in this chapter: 
> 
> Just Like a Pill - P!nk
> 
> Pump It - Black Eyed Peas
> 
> My Humps - Black Eyed Peas
> 
> Stupid Girls - P!nk
> 
> U + Ur Hand - P!nk
> 
> And just a quick reminder about the two endings: 
> 
> Chapter 2 is a happy, but open ending.
> 
> Chapter 3 is an ambiguous ending, and certainly sadder than the other. I'd categorise it as bittersweet.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hopeful, but open ending.

The bubble bursts when they’ve almost reached their destination. From far away, Harry can see him, and the tenseness of Draco’s body tells him he’s spotted him, too. Cornell is sitting on the steps of Draco’s house, dressed in a dishevelled Muggle suit, looking as if he’s spent the night there waiting for him. 

A feeling of unease and uncertainty settles into Harry’s stomach once they’re parked near the house. True, they’d just shared an amazing night together, but he himself had made clear it was just this. One night, nothing more or less, no string attached. Just his heart. 

He can’t make himself look over to Draco because then it might all become too real. There’s nothing but silence for what feels like an eternity. 

It will end like all the other times, Harry is convinced. 

_I know better than to call you mine._

He can’t really blame Draco, though, because he’s set to leave the country very soon, and there’s nothing he can do to change it. But does it have to be Cornell? It breaks his heart to even think about Draco with someone other than himself, but he’d sleep easier at night if it were someone else, and he wouldn’t worry so much about Draco. Harry can handle a broken heart, but not a broken Draco. 

A warm palm on his knee rips him from his thoughts. After a deep breath, he forces himself to look at Draco, who’s inexplicably smiling in understanding. 

“Please believe me. I said it’s over.” 

_Like all the other times_ rushes through Harry’s head. 

“Let me deal with this, and we’ll see each other later, okay? You can stay if you want, but I’d prefer you to not get caught in the middle of this.” 

Harry puts his hand above Draco’s. “Will you be all right?” 

“I honestly don’t know.” He rubs his other hand across his forehead like he’d done when they’d set off. “But it’s easier to deal with him alone. I can handle it, I promise.” 

With a strained smile, Harry nods and rubs his thumb over the back of Draco’s hand. 

_I’m here._ He doesn’t say it though.

Draco gets out of the car, and Harry makes his way back to his flat. He checks his mirror briefly and relaxes when Draco keeps himself a good distance away from Cornell.

* * *

It’s late in the evening when his phone lights up and vibrates on the living room table. He’s only seen Draco briefly at the MACUSA, but due to the lack of privacy there, they hadn’t been able to talk much. And after the check-up he’s been behind his desk, filling out all the documents necessary to close the case.

Flipping his phone open with his thumb, he sees Draco’s name on the screen and his face splits into a grin. He opens the message and grins even wider.

_“Need a pick-me-up :-)”_

**“I’ll be there in 25”**

When his message is sent, he closes his phone and holds it against his chest. 

Maybe they’ll figure things out after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ambiguous, but sadder ending

There’s a free slot in front of Draco’s house. The wide smile on Draco’s face lets Harry’s heart skips a beat. The long, slender fingers cup his face and Draco kisses his forehead, cheeks, the tip of his nose, followed by the corners of his mouth before he plants a kiss on his mouth. 

“I’ll be back; just need to change clothes. We’ll meet at your apartment in fifteen?”

“Don’t your showers usually take half an hour?”

“I can be quick if I want to.”

Harry smiles broadly back at him and ushers him out of the car, shouting out, “Hurry!” when Draco climbs the stairs to his front door. 

It happens when Draco fishes the keys from his trousers. The door opens, and there’s Cornell, his hands on Draco, his Draco, touching him in the same place he’d just been. 

_I know better than to call you mine._

The door slams shut behind them, and Harry rushes off. He doesn’t wait to see what happens next.

The singular thought on his mind is _Home, I have to get home._

He possibly breaks every speed limit on his way back to his apartment, or maybe he's even flown through the streets of New York, who knows? He arrives at his flat in under eight minutes. 

_Just for the night._ He’d said it himself. Draco doesn’t owe him anything, nothing, but to witness this after their shared night makes him sick, angry, and sad at heart. He told him Cornell was no longer with him, but why was he inside Draco’s house? 

The first thing he does upon entering the apartment is to ward it against anybody wanting to Apparate inside. He shuts down the Floo and disconnects his bell. He can forgo all the weasel words Draco can offer. Harry has seen it. It’s **not** over. 

He’s protected his heart for two years now only to have Draco break all his defences right before he’s about to leave the country for good. Harry _has_ to leave, he can’t stay here longer than necessary. 

Sitting down on his desk, he commences to fill out all the paperwork he’s pushed aside for so long. The rays of the early morning sun stream through his living room window, providing enough light that he doesn’t need to cast a Lumos. These parchments and forms are the only things that tie him to New York and MACUSA. In contrast to what Draco had demanded, Harry won’t see him to get clearance, but rather spend all day making sure he gets out of here as soon as possible.

* * *

It’s early Tuesday morning, roughly twenty-four hours later, when his phone vibrates on the table, the display facing the wood. Harry looks at it from the corner of his eyes, but can’t respond immediately because he’s on a long-distance Floo call with Kingsley. The Minister tells him that all his reports have been approved by both governments and that his Portkey will leave later that day. The only thing left to do besides packing is going to MACUSA one last time to clear out his cubicle.

He's astonished at himself, at what a single-minded, focused brain can achieve in less than a day. However, all he really wants to do after talking at the crack of dawn with Kingsley is take a nap before he has to start packing. Working through day and night after a night of no sleep has left his toll on him. 

He picks up his phone, sees the tiny envelope, and flips it open. 

_“Need a pick-me-up”_

Harry begins to type his usual response to messages like these from Draco. 

**“I’ll be there in 25”**

When he’s about to press send, he realises how stupid he really is. His thumb still hovers over the button, undecided. 

_I’ll know better than to ever call you mine._

**Author's Note:**

> 💋 This work is part of the Taste of Smut Fest, a Harry Potter-centered fest dedicated to the five senses: taste, touch, smell, hearing, and sight. 
> 
> If you’ve enjoyed this work, please do shower our content creators with kudos and comments! 💌
> 
> [Please check out the fest's tumblr for more posts and updates](https://tasteofsmut.tumblr.com/)


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